Renegade
by TWbasketcase
Summary: John Bender: the man, the myth, the legend. The life of a criminal is not a glorious one, and sometimes we would do just about anything to turn back time. AU.
1. Prologue

**Title**: Renegade  
**Author**: TWBasketcase  
**Rated**: M for loads of drug use, violence, language, and sexuality.  
**Chapter Summary**: Epilogue. I know that they are supposed to be at the END of stories, but this one is at the beginning, lol. So this isn't actually the start of the story, it's just a preview of things to come.  
**Disclaimer**: Bite my ass you assholes! Oh yeah, I don't own the breakfast club. (Yes I do!) Just kidding! I hate writing fucking disclaimers…  
**A/N**: Okay a few things before I get this story started:  
_1)_ If you are unaware this story IS RATED M, you have been warned. There will be a lot of dark themes in this story so be prepared. If you can't handle that, don't read.  
_2)_ This is not a Breakfast Club fic. This is a Bender fic. I am only using Bender because he is my favorite character. I want to do a story/character study on him, so if you're looking for a Claire romance you will NOT find it here. This story is for all of you who completely adore the character.  
_3)_ This story will not be in the first person POV. It will be that for THIS chapter, and that is all. The rest will be third person.  
_4)_ This is an AU story. It has no immediate time line. All I want to say is that Bender is eighteen in this fic. Whenever that may be, is up to you I guess; somewhere in the mid-eighties. The detention NEVER happened.  
_5)_ And finally, my OC character James will be appearing in this fic. I have gotten quite a few requests for him (from my other story, 'Next Time Around'), so I decided to add him in here because he would fit perfectly. So for all those I told I would write him again, here he is. For those of you who never read 'Next Time Around', all you need to know is that he is Bender's older brother. If there are any other background notes that you NEED to know, I will add in an author's note.  
So that would be all. I hope you enjoy, and if you have any questions feel free to let me know!

* * *

**Epilogue: I Knew What It Was Like**

* * *

_Renegade def. - A common vagabond; a worthless or wicked fellow._

* * *

There were times that I thought back to that night and wondered what would have happened if things went differently. If I hadn't gone along with what he said. If I hadn't gotten myself pulled into some organized fucking mess in the first place.

He always warned me. Although he was no angel himself, he was a lot fucking smarter than I was. He had those street smarts that kids like us had – thugs.

We were the creatures of the night.

People wouldn't dare push through us on the sidewalks. They knew – just by the looks on our faces – that they had absolutely no chance. For a big fucking city like Chicago, for the amount of people who populated it, we owned it. No one stopped us.

Or so we thought.

You never know just what kind of high horse you are on until someone bigger than you knocked you off. I though that I was king shit of the world. I had the chicks, I had the dope, and I was the best damn thief in our gang. I once punched someone so hard in the jaw he needed his fucking trap wired shut. That son of a bitch never bothered me ever again. No one fucking messed with me – with us. We were as tight as a virgin's pussy – until that day. Nothing had quite been the same ever since.

They wanted to throw me away. Twenty-five years. They wanted to lock me up in an eight foot by ten foot concrete box until I was fifty years old. I was barely legal. I had my whole fucking life ahead of me, and they tried to take that away. They almost put me there, almost. I wasn't about to let them beat me.

Not after what they did to him.

There were some memories that I wouldn't change for the world. The ones where we were as tight as brothers – _we were brothers_ – when we laughed until we cried, when we played jokes, when we only hung out, when we partied, and when we went out and had fun. I wouldn't take away those times back for the world.

The life of crime and deceit…well, I could say that they were my biggest regrets. That was what I was, a criminal.

I knew what it was like to get hurt, to get thrown down, and be called worthless. I grew up in a home with a good for nothing whore for a mother and a disgusting drunk for a father. I knew what it was like to hear the screams, to see the anguish.

I knew what it was like to curl up in the corner of my room howling in pain…tears flowing down my face, snot dripping out my nose, blankets over my head as I scratched violently at my ears. I didn't want to hear it anymore. I would pull at my ears until they were almost blue. I would bruise myself just trying to get the hurt away.

I knew what it was like.

I knew what it was like to feel like no one would ever help me. Even though my big brother – my best friend – was there to hide me, to throw his arm around me…I knew that he hurt too. I always thought he was the bravest guy in the whole world, and it ripped my soul from the inside out to know that he felt the same thing that I did. That he felt the grief circulating his veins…and that he did absolutely nothing about it, only tried to protect me. He wanted to cry, and he wanted to end it all…but he didn't on account of me. I never felt more empty and guilty over anything else.

I could remember the nights when all I smelled was cheap booze and cigars. By the time I was eight years old I could distinguish the smell of alcohol from any other liquid beverage we kept in the house. I didn't think much of that fact at the time, only that if I did smell it, then something bad was going to happen.

Every little fight had come down to that clear, dangerous liquid.

Of course, my mother never helped matters at all. My mom had my older brother when she was sixteen and a half. She never even finished school. For some reason, at the time, people thought it was okay to drop their lives and start popping out kids they couldn't support; the fucking sixties, what a joke. She had my older brother, and wasted no time – only three months after she had him – to get knocked up again.

At least she waited three more years for my sister.

She had this stupid fucking image in her head that we would be the perfect family. Live in our little bungalow and get a dog. Well read the bulletin, bitch: the old man had to serve in Vietnam, the dog was now dead, and the house looked the same as it did in 1964, the boys were drug addicted morons, and the poor little daughter had no one; not a fucking _single_ person that was worthy enough to be considered a positive role model to her.

Sounds like a story out of a Mr. Rogers episode, don't it?

That wasn't to say that the three of us weren't close. We tried – we tried to make things right for her, and protect her. Our little sister was tough, but she was innocent. I loved her more than anything, and I know damn well to this day that I didn't say it enough. She might have felt the same way at one point in time, she may have looked up to me once, maybe was even proud to be my little sister.

Since that night though, things changed forever.

I always thought that because I was subjected to all of the violence and substance abuse that I would know better. I had enough faith in myself growing up to actually think that I would avoid that life. I was confident that I would never become my father. I was confident that I would never be a coward like my mother. I was confident that I was smart enough to take my life another way.

I knew what it was like to feel the pain and anguish that violence and alcohol could put people through, yet it didn't naturally deter me from following that path. Subconsciously, I slowing became one of them. I can't remember how many nights that we drank until we shit ourselves, and how many fights I got into.

I was vicious when I fought. I was just like my father. I would not ease up and I wouldn't lay off of a guy until my knuckles were cracked open, until I was laughing maniacally, until he was screaming fucking mercy, until I was peeled off of him. I wouldn't stop until I knew that I was the last man standing.

I knew what that kid at my feet felt like. I knew that he could smell the hot alcohol on my breath, breathing all over him. I knew that he could taste his own blood, and that he could taste the shreds of skin that came off my hands as they connected with his teeth. I knew that he felt scared for his life, and that he had no idea when I was going to stop.

I knew how he felt, but I did not stop myself. I had to prove that I was at the top of the food chain, and that life was survival of the fittest because, fuck, it was. I had no conscience. I was a fucking hypocrite.

I had grown up – molded – to the man that I never wanted to be.

My father let his anger take over his life. I don't know what happened to him in Vietnam. I don't know how much blood he spilled, or what sort of torture they had put him through. All I know is that when he came back, he was never the same. He left when I was three years old. He left a happy, cheery family man. He came back an indescribable monster that could barely hold down a job at the local fucking car wash. He was never the same, and he never let that experience leave his mind. His anger at the government, at the Vietnamese, at the army…his anger at everyone was taken out on us and he let it destroy his life.

I look back on it now and I can see the similarities between us. We both hated the fucking government – _the man_, if you will – for what they did to him, so we both rebelled. We both turned to substances when we couldn't deal. We both had an unlimited amount of anger. We both had hot tempers. We both made grave mistakes. We both tore our family apart.

I am just like that man. I couldn't see it then, but after all that has happened, I see it now. I hate myself everyday for it.

I will never forget it until the day my worthless life ends and I am laying six feet below the ground.

* * *

_I was now officially an accomplice. I couldn't believe that he actually did it. He was the last one left; Roger was the quiet one, the innocent one. Kids like Roger were not supposed to pull a trigger. They weren't supposed to leave kids in the street in a puddle of their own blood, struggling for their last breath. _

_That was probably why he couldn't hold down his supper when he heard Jake's skull hit the pavement._

_But I threw my arm around him. Roger, Ricky, and James were the _only_ ones left. I couldn't let Roger go to jail for murder. He was just a kid and he would never survive in the pen. I had heard nasty stories about what they do to guys in there, and I wasn't allowed to watch my friend go down like that; what if he got the death penalty?_

_I could remember the way everything slowed when the gun sounded. It was almost as if the whole world had played in a fuzzy, slow motion movie. The bullet spun, and hit him right in the chest. His face had contorted in pain, and his arms had flown forward – ahead of him. The impact of the shot had forced his upper back to push out, making him lose his balance, and he fell backwards. There was a whole group of people standing around. They did nothing. They only stood back and watched, some screamed, others cried. But no one helped _him_. No one helped _us

_It was over. Life as we knew it was over and things were never going to be the same again. _

_We must have stood there and watched as the blood trickled out of his mouth. The way his chest pushed out, gasping for one final breath. His eyes had rolled back and seemed to settle right on Roger's face. It was almost as if he was saying, 'You aren't getting away' one more time. God, how Jake always said that._

_We didn't know what to do. The world was slowed until Roger final lost it and puked all over his Doc's. Reality snapped back like a sling shot at that exact second. I stood, for some reason, with my hands up. I couldn't put them down. Ricky screamed, he screamed like a little bitch._

_The only one that knew what to do was James. He always knew what to do._

_He grabbed my hands and pushed them down towards my sides. "Let's get the fuck out of here, boys." He had shouted it in my ear…but for some reason it almost seemed like a whisper._

_I acted at those words. I threw my arm over Roger's shoulder and pulled him towards me. The sirens had already sounded at the point; they weren't very far away. I almost knew in the back of my mind that it was stupid to run. There were at least a dozen and a half people standing around who had witnessed the whole thing. They knew our names, they knew our faces, and they knew our addresses. We weren't going anywhere._

_Yet, I felt the need to save him. It was the biggest mistake I had ever made in my whole life._

_I can't remember how _he_ got the gun after that point. I don't remember anyone handing it over to him, nor do I remember him taking it after Jake was shot. All I remember was that he was there – looming over me – as I tried to protect my friend._

_I couldn't hear the sounds of our shoes hitting the pavement as the four of us ran. I couldn't hear my breathing, nor could I hear the screams and cries going on around us. The only thing I could hear was a loud, hollow thump in my chest. I felt as if I were in some sort of nightmare. Things had reached the breaking point._

_The cop cars had flown around the corners behind us. I could hear the tires skidding across the pavement. We kept on running though. We didn't stop until we hit the block aide ahead of us. There must have been twenty cops on the road pointing their guns at us and telling us to get down on our stomachs. The screaming continued._

"_Get down on the ground, now!"_

"_Put your hands on your head!"_

"_I want to see you laying face down!"_

"_Down on your knees!"_

_I remember being so confused; what _did_ they want us to do? All I did was stop dead on the street, and once again, my hands were in the air. I remember Roger started crying, saying that he didn't want to die. But most of all, I could hear the challenging threats from my older brother. I couldn't see Ricky's hands; I didn't know what he was doing, only that his mouth did not move._

_In a matter of seconds, shots had rung out. I remember someone clobbering me on the head, knocking me to the ground. I will easily admit that I hit the ground and covered my ears again. I felt like I was ten years old, with the tears on my cheeks, the snot on my lips, and scratching at my ears, pulling them so fucking hard._

_And then his body jerked. _

_I saw him right above my head, get hit one, two, three, four, no, five times. All over his body he jerked from left to right, sending sprays of scarlet all over my face and the road around me._

_I had never felt so broken in my entire life._

_He fell in a heap on the pavement, landing right in front of my face. His eyes were open, staring into my own. He had a small trickle of blood dripping down the side of his lips, and one hand rested across his chest._

_I remember his legs; I knew that they weren't supposed to bend that way. If he were coherent, he wouldn't have been comfortable. _

_It wasn't until I crawled over to him and cradled his head in my lap that I realized just how much blood was every where. His blood. I had it on my face, my hands, my clothes…I could taste it in my mouth. For the first time since I was twelve years old, I cried. I bawled like a fucking baby. A piece of my heart and a piece of my soul had been ripped away._

_The rest of us were peeled off of him like a scab. All they did was throw a fucking jacket over his face so that the passerby couldn't see his face. Us, well, we didn't get a chance to mourn because we were ripped away and thrown into the hood of a car._

_The fuckers weren't gentle. They had broken my nose and hit me in the ribs. The wretched my arms behind my back and cuffed me up. For the fourth time in my life I had seen the back of a police cruiser._

_It was the first time in my life that it was because of a murder wrap._

_In all honesty though, it was the last thing on my mind. The pain wasn't felt; the fear wasn't there…only such heartbreaking despair. I never felt so alone in my whole life, and I knew it was going to be that way until I died._

_If only I could have kept my petty grudges to myself he would still be here today._

* * *

It was the life that _I_ had chosen; _I_ ended up an angry and desperate loser just like my old man. If I could turn back the hands of time, perhaps I wouldn't have gone to the warehouse that night. If I could take it back, the deal would have never gone down. If I could change anything: I would have taken the bullet for him in a heart beat.

That time will never come back to me. Forever more I will be branded the cold hearted criminal.

I knew what it was like to feel the pain, only now I wished I would have learned from it when I was that little runt hiding behind my bed.

_**TBC**_

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**A/N**: Okay, so there is the start! Like I said, this is the epilogue, so everything will be explained throughout the story as it progresses. I hope it wasn't too cryptic, and that you have some sort of understanding as to what went down. I'm hoping the rest of the chapters will get increasingly longer, as well. So let me know what you think, and thanks for reading! 


	2. Creatures of the Night

**Title**: Renegade  
**Author**: TWBasketcase  
**Rated**: M for drug use, language, violence, sexuality, and death  
**Chapter Summary**: First chapter takes place one month before the prologue; it introduces Bender and his friends, as well as the rest of his family.  
**A/N**: All applicable notes are found in the prologue.

* * *

**The Creatures of the Night**

* * *

_Friday November 1, 1985_

* * *

John sat on the front of Reggie's car and took a long swig of the beer that the other boy had given him. Reggie was the good shit; he and John had been friends since they were six years old. They had met in the school yard one day when a bunch of boys – boys who had grown up on the better side of town, and ended up popular football players – were beating on him and teasing him. John had stuck up for him, and with help from his other friends Roger and Ricky, had scared the other boys off.

Reggie's family was one of the few African American families in their neighborhood. The other boys had been picking on him because he was poor – unfairly labeling him with racist comments on the social class of his family. At six years old a kid was getting pounded on for the color of his skin.

That sort of shit never really bothered John; Reggie was a cool kid and that more than made up for what he looked like. As a matter of fact, Reggie was probably one of the coolest kids in their group. He was extremely tough and played a mean guitar for one of the best local metal bands in the Chicago area. All the boys in the gang respected him, and those that didn't ride with them steered clear of him. He grew well into his six foot three inch frame, and packed on two hundred pounds of mass. Reggie was a big boy and knew how to use his weight well.

He blared on the horn, not in the least scaring John. "Get your trashy ass off of my car!" He was seated in the front seat installing a new tape deck.

Cody and Tom sat on either side of Bender. He had met the two boys in high school and often ditched school with them. Cody gave him a goofy grin and nudged his ribs. "You heard the man…don't leave any skid marks on your way off either." Cody slid off of the hood of the car, taking a drag from his cigarette simultaneously. (1)

Cody was an interesting character. He was one hell of a partier, but he had an electrifying temper on him. Unlike the others, Cody was small. He only stood at five foot nine and was very lanky. Although he looked to be skinny, he packed a nasty left fist. Cody usually bore a goofy grin on his face, and was most often the joker of the group; he was also the youngest at sixteen. He was also the best at controlling himself, except of course when it came to drugs. He wasn't much for booze, or even weed, Cody had himself into the heavies. He liked his cocaine mighty fine.

Tom on the other hand was the exact opposite of Cody. Tom was pushing six feet and was well over two hundred pounds. Unlike Reggie, Tom wasn't all muscle, he was pretty overweight. He had two ears full of rings as well as one piercing the septum of his nose. He was well known for his colorful leather jackets and vests, as well as his steel toed eighteen holed combat boots. He wasn't exactly the smartest boy in the group, nor the fastest, but he was huge – and powerful. He was one of the more serious boys of the group.

The car horn blared once more as John smiled at Tom. Tom shook his head laughing and he too stepped away from the vehicle. John knew in the back of his mind that Reggie was getting pissed, but he just loved to rile the boy up.

He looked back over his shoulder and smirked at the boy; Reggie was getting livid. "I'm warning you, John boy, you better get your ass off my car." Reggie turned the ignition and the car roared to life.

John looked back at the rest of the gang and smirked. He shook his hair out of his face and took another drink of his beer. He looked back at Reggie and grinned devilishly. He turned the bottle slowly until it was upside down, draining the last bit of his beer on Reggie's windshield.

The bald boy glared and slammed on the gas pedal of his car. The rest of the gang scattered out of the way, as the car flew threw the standing group. John, on the other hand, held on for his dear life. He could hear Reggie laughing maniacally as he spun the wheel to the left and then slammed on the brakes. John frantically looked for something to grab on to, but the force was too much and he landed in a nearby pile of garbage bags.

He shook the cobwebs from his head and he could hear the laughter emanating from the group behind him. He scowled and brought himself to his feet. "What the fuck was that for?"

Reggie crossed his arms as he stood from his car. "You fuck up my car I fuck you up, mother fucker!"

He could hear more laughs coming from the other boys. He looked up and glared at them. "Shut the fuck up!" The only one that hadn't been laughing was Roger.

Roger Lukster was John's best friend. Of all the boys in their ever growing group, Roger was the one that he depended on and trusted. They had known each other the longest, and had stuck together through thick and thin. He was always there for him when he needed help, and bailed him out on more than one occasion. Roger was easily the good kid of the group. He was quiet and liked to observe more often than participate. That wasn't to say the kid was boring – he and John had their fair share of crazy times together – but when the group was together as a whole, Roger was more of a background character.

The group of boys before him – Reggie, Roger, Cody, and Tom – were considered the 'younger boys' of their gang; they still attended high school. Bender was the oldest of this group at eighteen. Usually – because he was the oldest – they tended to follow and listen to him – that and because John's older brother was their unofficial leader. When they were at school it was safest to take John's lead because he had the best head on his shoulders.

Which was why the boys had stopped laughing; Reggie smirked at John. "Don't get all pissy on me, boy. You deserved that shit and you know it." John rolled his eyes and dusted off his pants. He dug into his back pocket and quickly spun out his switchblade. Reggie's eyes twinkled in challenge and he smiled. "Whattya thinkin', John boy?"

John said nothing and only pulled his arm back and threw the blade directly at the darker boy. A quick flash of panic passed over the boy's face and he whipped his leg up and out of the way. The blade spun and smacked directly into the tire of the car. Fortunately for both boys' sakes, the handle of the blade was what made contact with the tire rubber, leaving it undamaged.

The small group of boys once again erupted into a fit of laughter.

"You crazy son of a bitch! What the hell is wrong with you?" Reggie was yelling at John and throwing his arms around as he spoke. John only smirked and went to retrieve his knife. Reggie glared at him. "I outta kick your sorry ass."

John shrugged and motioned to Roger. "Well you keep on thinkin' that. Let's go, Lux."

Roger waived off the other boys and jogged to Bender's side. The two boys turned their backs on the others and walked off towards the east side of town – towards home.

* * *

"Are you okay, man?" Roger looked up at him with a shivering chin and a pink nose. Chicago weather wasn't exactly the warmest in November.

Bender shrugged it off. "Why wouldn't I be? Reggie is a douche bag." In all honesty, his left knee and elbow were hurting him; he had landed on his left side and it had taken the brunt end of the fall. He wasn't hurt to the point of crying, but he wasn't about to admit any sign of weakness…even if it was only to Roger.

The blonde haired boy just smiled at him. "Are you sure about that? I could have sworn to god that I saw you sniffling for a minute there." He pulled his bomber jacket closer to his body and brought his hands inside his sleeves.

John rolled his eyes and gave his friend a playful shove. "So you wanna hang out tonight?"

Roger shoved. "Yeah, and I'll be grabbing your couch 'til tomorrow too." He didn't need to go into details. The only kid on the block that had a worse dad then John was Roger. John didn't know exactly what the fuck that man was on, but it was a lot more fucked up than his own old man when he got drunk. He knew that Roger had a tough time at home with his parents – he was also an only child – and that he didn't like to talk about it, so Bender never pressed him. He just gave up his couch in the basement without hesitation.

John only nodded in response and hopped up the stairs of the front porch of the Bender house. It was still before four o'clock, so his parents wouldn't be home yet. He would be lucky if Janice, his younger sister, was home. The girl didn't usually make it home until after ten o'clock on a Friday night. However, he knew there would be one person home waiting for him.

James Bender was the oldest of the three siblings. Like his younger brother, they both got their looks from their father; he wore his hair long – not quite as long as his brother's, in a little more of a spiky, messy look. He had large brown eyes and matching colored hair. He only had about an inch in height on his brother, and had a strong frame. (2)

James was quite the character of the gang. He wasn't the oldest – he had just turned twenty, and Jake, his friend, was twenty two; however, he was unofficially the leader of the gang. He was the only one with a job outside of drug dealing, and he had a lot more street smarts than the other boys. He had the contacts, the products, and the brains.

James was someone all the boys had looked up to, not just for who he was, but because he was like a brother to all of them. He took a lot of responsibility for the boys and wasn't afraid to deck them if they needed it. James was like the concrete of the group.

John pulled open the ratty screen door to the two-storey home and let the door slam behind them. The living room was quite messy; magazines and newspapers littered the coffee table, and their father's breakfast dishes were still sitting out on top of them. A few laundry baskets were piled underneath of the ironing board, and the vacuum was pulled out across the floor. It wasn't a rare occurrence that the Bender household was a fucking mess.

The only noise that was produced from the house was that coming from the basement. He could hear laughter as well as the blasting music of Metallica's 'Ride the Lightening'. Bender threw the basement door open and took the stairs down in two's. When he reached the bottom, he smiled. "Ricky! You're out!"

The older blue haired boy grinned at him and stood up to shake his hand. Ricky was a long time friend of the boys; He was James' age and had met him in kindergarten. For the last two months Ricky had been in the cooler for breaching his probation orders. John didn't think he was supposed to out so soon.

A smile spread across his face. "Good behavior."

John rolled his eyes as Ricky moved on to shake Roger's hand as well. John smirked at him. "Were you suckin' the warden off or somethin'?"

Ricky gave him a hard stare with his icy blue eyes. "Watch your mouth there, kiddo."

John rolled his eyes at the boy's threat. To people who didn't know him, Ricky looked like an intimidating and menacing punk rocker. He wasn't very tall, only about five foot nine and a half, but he had cold eyes and a tough disposition. However, the people who hung around him knew better. That wasn't to say that the boy couldn't fight, but he just took him a lot to get to that point. He was by far the most easy going of the group, and was more into sex and drinking, and how he did both. Ricky brought around a new girl around every week and was drunk a couple days during that time. It would be easy to describe him as a ladies man with his looks and his charming personality. He was also a very loyal guy who would never think twice about backstabbing anyone. It was also almost impossible to be angry with him.

"Sit down, guys." James spoke with an amused tone as he swiped his tongue across a Zig-Zag paper (3). The boys took their seats around a large, circular, brown table. The last boy to say anything was the remaining boy of the group, Jake Porter. He was weighing up dime bags and putting them into neat piles.

"You gotta deal goin' down tomorrow?" Roger asked as he accepted a lit joint from James. The black haired boy regarded him for a moment before speaking.

"We do have one going on tomorrow…but this shit is just to bring over to the club." He said no more and continued what he was doing. Jake wasn't exactly one of Bender's favorite people; in fact, Bender would readily admit that he didn't like him. Jake was part of the gang because he was friends with Ricky and James. He didn't like the younger boys around too much, and would outwardly say so. He was always shifty eyed and was quick to blame other people for his problems and mistakes. Bender had a hard time trusting him, and even conversing with him, but he tolerated the hard headed man for his brother.

John accepted the joint from Roger and eyed James carefully. "What is going down tomorrow then?"

"Huge deal," James started as he began snipping up another bud. "I gotta bring a quarter pound of green, four ounces of hash, and two ounces of lube." John's eyebrows perked at that.

"New customer?" He passed the joint to his right and kept his eyes on his brother. His brother was pretty much the 'go-to guy' for dope – amongst other things – in Shermer. John was used to watching his older brother doing the risky business – he got the small stuff like dealing at school – but this was pretty big, even for him.

"Not necessarily," James said as he licked another paper and brought a new joint to his lips. "I'm doing a trade off."

Roger shot John a look and then returned his gaze to James. "For what?"

Jake cut in and glared. "Don't you kids be worrying about that…we don't need you screwin' it up for us."

"Fuck you, Jake." Bender spat.

"Hey!" James cut both boys off. "Jake take it easy…Johnny, you'll see what happens tomorrow. I'm meeting with someone big and I wanna keep it on the down low…that's all."

Ricky looked between all four boys confusedly. "Okay…I don't wanna sound like a fuck, but what's going on tomorrow?"

James snorted at his friend. "Metal show."

Ricky opened his mouth in an 'ah' motion and nodded. "Well that explains a bit more then…"

John smiled at the blue haired boy. "You been gone too long man." Roger slapped the boy on the back as well.

"It's good to have you back, bro."

Ricky smiled at the others. "And it is good to be back, gentlemen. Now we can get back to business," He stared at Jack and perked an eyebrow, "together…_and_ fuck shit up!"

The group of boys laughed as they sat in the cloud of smoke. John knew the next day was going to be big for his brother. The metal show was over in Chicago, so he was probably meeting up with one of the bigger boys from there. Shermer wasn't much for the drug game, but Chicago – well Chicago was a whole other ball game.

Now that they were all together again though, things would start rolling.

_**TBC**_

* * *

(1) – Cody and Tom are past characters of mine. You can find more descriptions about them in my other story 'I've Seen You Before' in Chapter one.

(2) – James appeared in 'Next Time Around'. You can find more descriptions of him in chapters 2 and 19.

(3) – Zig-Zag papers are used for rolling cigarettes, or other things.

**A/N**: I know that was short and very jumbled with characters, but I needed to do that to introduce all of my main players. That is just going to be my building block. The characters you met in this chapter will be all the boys that are in Bender's 'gang'. If you want to cut it down to who is most important, then just pay attention to any of the names mentioned in the prologue (John, James, Roger, Ricky, and Jake). The others are just there for the purpose of my plot and you won't have to memorize everything about them. I promise it will get better and easier as I go on. Things will pick up next chapter.

Thanks for reading and please review!


	3. Heavy Metal Vomit Parties

**Title**: Renegade  
**Author**: TWBasketcase  
**Rated**: M for large amounts of drug use, violence, sexuality, language, and death.  
**Chapter Summary**: The boys head to the metal show in Chicago and prepare for a big deal to go down. Time is cut short however when the cops raid the show and people are arrested. Their new big contact is met, and a business proposition is made.  
**A/N**: Hey there! I just wanted to let you guys know that I am going to start posting in depth versions of character descriptions in the FanFic forums. If you feel the need to look up more information about a particular character, you can go there for any answers. The thread is called 'The OC Catalogue' and features a whole slew of OC's. I already have James' and Roger's posted and the rest will be posted in the coming weeks as well. Here is chapter 3 and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Heavy Metal Vomit Parties**

* * *

_Fear was not in our vocabulary. When something bad happened, we took the fall and we took it like men. _

_When you're a soldier, you never question where you stand._

_The night of the metal show was really the beginning of it all. It was the day that Mad Dog came into the picture. He was the one who was responsible for splitting us apart. He destroyed everything. It started off like every other show we went to, but when it ended, we had made a deal with the devil._

_He may have been a bastard, but in the end we had no one to blame but ourselves._

* * *

_Saturday November 2, 1985_

* * *

The air was getting cooler in Chicago, announcing the start of the oncoming winter. The boys – all of them – were not very fond of the cooler weather. They all lived in the low class end of town, some of them as bad off as not having any heat at all. It was hard for their families to afford good winter clothing to keep them warm, so usually they piled on layers and layers to keep warm and prevent themselves from getting sick. 

John Bender was no exception. His usual winter attire would consist of an under shirt, a thermal shirt, a flannel shirt of some sort, his denim jacket, and his trench coat. Any of them alone would provide next to no warmth, but the combination of all five worked for him. The only other thing he had was his scarf, and he had that since he was thirteen.

Roger, John, and James crammed inside of James' 1974 Ford pick up truck. James was the one delivering the goods to the club. Jake and Ricky were going to walk together, while Reggie was going to take Cody and Tom with him. If John remembered correctly, Reggie's band was probably playing that night which meant that the three younger boys would be there quite early.

John glared at James as he sang an Elton John song along with the radio. John hated Elton, and James knew it. The older boy leaned over and cranked up 'Rocket Man' and began belting it as loud as he could.

"And I think it's gonna be a long long time, till touchdown brings me round again to find, I'm not the man they think I am at home, oh no no no! I'm a rocket man! Burning up his fuse up here alone! Bah bah ba ba ba ba bah!" He let out a whooping laughter and smacked his steering wheel.

Roger was nicer than John and chuckled at James' antics. John on the other hand, kicked his foot out at the stereo and turned it off. "You're such a fag."

James reached over the dash and gave his brother a hard punch in the arm. "You better watch your fucking mouth and keep your damn feet on the floor, kid." He shook a hand through his messy hair and shot his brother a grin. "I work hard for this piece of shit, you know."

John snorted loudly. "Yeah you work so hard sitting on your ass in here and eating pizza all night. Poor baby."

"I do not _eat_ pizza!" James protested. "I _deliver_ it. If I give it a small taste test that is not a problem." The two younger boys laughed at him.

John looked out the windshield as the club came into view. There were quite a few groups of kids standing out in the parking lot smoking. As far as he could remember, he hadn't seen the club that packed since the Misfits came to town, and that was saying something. He looked back at his older brother. "So who is this guy that you gotta see?"

James kept his eyes on the road. "His name is Mad Dog."

Roger blinked. "Uh, what kind of name is that?"

James shrugged. "I don't know. That's all I know about him. That and he is one of Chicago's biggest blow suppliers."

"What?!" John exclaimed. "You're trading off all our product for cocaine?" John wasn't too sure how he felt about that. He wasn't really into blow. Cody and Tom were always looking for it, and Jake had always tried to talk James into it. Blow was where the big money was, but it also brought upon a whole new slew of problems.

"I'm not trading it all off. He just wants to see what kind of business we can do for him." James turned the wheel into the parking lot. John could tell immediately that his brother was hiding something.

"Why you?" John asked. "Why the hell would he want to deal with you?"

James glared at him as he took off his seat belt and reached under the seat. "And why not me? I got the biggest grass clientele in Shermer!"

"Doesn't Shermer have a _blow_ dealer?" Roger asked quietly.

James didn't make eye contact with the boys. "No one knows where he is, so I'm taking it. Johnny, this can make us some serious money! I can get this piece of shit fixed, maybe even our own place. We can take Janice with us! We can get the fuck out of there!" His eyes were burning with sincerity and John looked away.

He couldn't argue with that. He knew that his brother was right. How could he deny him when he knew deep down that it was for the best? It wasn't for his own personal gain, but once more for him and Janice. James always thought about them first. The only problem was the fact – once more – that it was cocaine. Blow was a serious game; people died everyday because of it, and that just wasn't from overdoses either. John worried about the shady characters that they would come across – the ones wanting product, and the ones supplying them. The thought of the past supplier being MIA also burned on his mind. The whole thing just unsettled him.

"Fine, but…we gotta talk about this some more, bro." John opened up the truck door and stepped out into the concrete lot. Roger slid out behind him and gave him a somber look.

"This can't be going anywhere good, John."

He knew that. He had to trust his brother's word though. James had never led them astray before, and he always put John and Janice first. He had to trust him.

He was angry at himself for every second that he didn't.

* * *

John, Roger, and Ricky sat at a table and watched Jake and James from a distance. The three boys were left with a backpack filled with dime bags, scales, and cash. If any of the kids wanted to buy some dope then they were to take care of the sales. 

Jake and James were waiting for Mad Dog. They sat positioned at the bar, Jake with a back pack of his own. They seemed to be chatting comfortably and were sipping on drinks – they weren't bringing any unwanted attention to themselves, which was a good thing.

"Isn't this great, boys? Soon we gonna be pushin' so much junk that we'll be rolling in the cash!" Ricky sighed dreamily and took a drink of his beer. "I've heard a bit about this guy."

Roger perked an eyebrow at the blue haired boy. "Yeah? What about him?"

"You guys remember ole Ronnie Sinclair from your freshmen year? The red headed kid with the huge mullet?" Ricky laughed at the memory of the kid. "Anyways, he was the last guy that was working for this Mad Dog guy. I heard Ronnie would have his hands on like ten thousand dollars a week!"

Roger's eyes almost bulged out of his head. "Ten grand? That sure is a lot of cash."

Bender shrugged. "And what happened to him, Ricky? Why did he pull out?"

Ricky paused momentarily and took a sip of beer. He finally shrugged his shoulders. "I'm not quite sure, to tell you the truth. I heard that he just up and left town all of a sudden. Some guy that was doing time while I was in the cooler was talking about him. Said he was never coming back."

Bender nodded. "Did you ever stop to think why, Rick?"

Before Ricky could answer, Roger nodded in the direction of James and Jake. "That must be the man right there. He sure doesn't look very tough."

Bender spun his head around and got a good look at the guy they call Mad Dog. He was a short man who only stood about five foot five. He wore a long black trench coat that was buttoned all the way up to his chin. On his head, he wore a blue and white bandana and a pair of expensive looking sunglasses. James and Jake just towered over the guy and looked like they could take him in one round.

But John Bender knew better than that.

There was a very good possibility that Mad Dog had a whole swarm of guys around him watching his brother. There was also a very good possibility that Mad Dog was packing heat; he probably had a gun or two, a chain, a switchblade, if not more!

Mad Dog motioned towards the exit of the club and James and Jake followed the smaller man out. Roger looked at Bender with a worried expression.

Ricky sighed. "Anyone wanna go out for a smoke?"

* * *

James sat at the bar with Jake waiting for the arrival of Mad Dog. He didn't want to say he was nervous, but he had always heard a lot of crazy stories about crack dealers and the going ons of the Chicago streets. Chicago was a hell of a lot different than Shermer was and he didn't want to get his head blown off there in a scummy punk club. 

"So we got a whole QP of green…how much you willing to sell this for?" Jake asked him as he figured out calculations in his head.

"$450," James answered.

Jake snorted. "Dude, did you know you can get a QP in California for way cheaper than that? I heard of people buying that stuff for like $300."

"Illinois sucks," James gave a curt reply. And in the drug world, Illinois did suck. They often had some of the highest prices in the country. He wanted to make sure he could rack up the highest price possible. Cocaine was worth a lot of money.

"Okay, what about the hash?" Jake asked.

"Uh, $350," James answered.

"Okay, so that puts us up to $800…and what about the lube?"

"Go $300 to put us at $1200." Jake took a sip of his drink and scanned the crowd at the club. "That'll hopefully score us two ounces. I'm sure if we get rid of that he'll get us more on a spot deal. It really all depends on how much we can push."

"What about a cut?" Asked Jake, always worried about profits.

James regarded the black haired boy patiently. "I told you, it all depends on what we push. We're doin' a trade because we have no money, dip shit. If we can push this stuff at a decent pace, we can probably get a spot deal where we pay nothing up front."

"Man, this will take forever. We gotta get a better deal going, James!" Jake was whining now. If James wasn't so tense he would have laid him out right then and there.

"Just shut the fuck up and calm down. You're lucky you even got me doing something this small. This goes the way I want, you got that? You'll get your share, but for now we just have to wait and see." He pushed his fingers through his hair and gave the older boy a strong stare. Jake quickly backed down and nodded his head.

"Are you Mr. Bender?" He heard a soft spoken voice behind him. He turned in his chair slowly and came face to face with a bandana clad man.

"Yeah, what's it to you?" He asked sharply.

"I'm Mad Dog." The man retorted with an edge to his voice. James couldn't even believe that this guy was _the_ Mad Dog. He was short, scrawny, and soft spoken. He had no idea that a man of this caliber could be such a heavy hitter.

Jake, being the ass kissing, cocaine addict that he was, jumped up with a grin. "Jake Porter, good to meet you. This here is James."

Mad Dog looked Jake up and down before he returned his gaze to James. "I would like to speak with you boys out in the parking lot, if you don't mind." Jake gave James an impatient look and motioned for him to get a move on.

"Yeah, sure, that'll be fine." James replied. He gathered his drink and finished it off with one gulp and set it back on the bar. He turned his head swiftly to the table at the opposite side of the room. He instantly made eye contact with Ricky, and motioned for him to move outside.

James turned back around and gave the older men a polite smile. "Shall we?"

* * *

Bender quickly gathered the back pack they were assigned to and handed it off to Ricky. The blue haired boy quickly stood from his seat and waved down Cody and Tom, who were standing at the stage and chatting with Reggie. The two skin heads quickly made their way over, but not without their goofy grins plastered all over their faces. John frowned at them. 

"Get the fuck over here already, will ya?" John clenched and unclenched his gloved hands as the boys approached.

"What's going on, boys?" Cody asked. "Reggie is about to play!"

John rolled his eyes. "Reggie can wait; we have more important things to worry about right now. We gotta go outside and keep an eye out on Jake and James. You two doucebags are coming with us."

Tom and Cody put up no fight. The five boys quickly cut across the growing group of dancers in the middle of the club and made their way towards the exit. John's concern was growing by the minute knowing that his brother was out there alone with nobody but Jake. He threw open the exit doors and leaned up against the wall.

He couldn't come out looking for trouble, nor could he bust in on the middle of a deal. He had to remain as calm and inconspicuous as possible. He reached into the inside pocket of his denim jacket and pulled out a package of Marlboros; he struck the match against his front two teeth and lit up his smoke, keeping a watchful eye over the parking lot for any sign of his brother.

"Black four door, two o'clock." Roger commented. He nodded in the direction of said car to their right. Bender just caught the door closing.

"You sure that's him?" He asked.

"Trust me," Roger assured. "It was him."

"What do you think they are doing in there?" Cody asked. He brought his beer outside – even though he clearly was underage and was not supposed to – and took a long drink from it.

"Not wanting to say whatever it is they needed to say in front of so many people," Bender answered. Big timers were always paranoid like that.

He kept his eyes glued on the car. There were two men leaning against the front of the hood, and four more on two other cars on either side of the black four-door. When he thought that there were guys swarming the club earlier, he knew now that his suspicions were correct.

"What the hell?" He heard Roger's voice. John's head snapped around at the sound of it and he nudged his friend.

"What is it?"

"Boys, I think the fuzz are here!" He was looking all over the parking lot frantically. There were dark cars circling the parking lots. They were indeed the police; they always had their windows tinted as dark as possible, and they always had at least three antennas perched on the ass end of their cars.

John's heart almost stopped when he realized they were circling Mad Dog's car.

He dropped his cigarette to the ground and began to walk to the car.

"What the fuck are you doing, kid? You get your punk ass back here now!" Ricky grabbed him by the back of the jacket and hauled him back as hard as he could. John cursed.

"Let me go, asshole! I have to get him out of there!"

"Why so he can serve me my head on a platter for letting you, I don't fucking think so! Besides, that guy would probably have a gun pointed at your head the second you showed up thinkin' you were a rat!" he let John go roughly and pointed as he spoke. "And if I get caught with this damn backpack on my shoulders – I'm on probation! I would get another sentence and then some tacked on!"

Suddenly, the black four door hit the gas and accelerated from the parking lot at top speeds. Jake and James were still inside of it. John's heart sank and he ran forward a few steps.

That was when he noticed the cops.

They began exiting their cars with their guns drawn. The six men that were previously hanging off of Mad Dog's car began to scatter, but they couldn't get very far. There were about four dozen uniformed and casually clothed law enforcers pointing their guns at them.

"Get down on the ground! You are under arrest for the murder of Ronnie Sinclair!"

John's breath hitched in his throat and he turned to Ricky. "Didn't you say Ronnie Sinclair was Mad Dog's _last _connection?"

The blue haired boy swallowed hard and nodded. "I guess he didn't leave town after all, huh?"

_**TBC**_

* * *

**A/N**: Oh dear! What is going to happen to Jake and James? And where did they go? Stay tuned for the next chapter, and don't forget to review! Pretty please, with anything you want on top:) 


	4. At the Starting Line

**Title**: Renegade  
**Author**: TWBasketcase  
**Rated**: M for language, drug use, violence, and death  
**Chapter Summary**: John, Roger, and Ricky return to the Bender house after a night of unsuccessfully trying to locate Jake and James. The boys have a conversation regarding the crack dealers, and the next day, John has a serious conversation with his sister, Janice.  
**A/N**: Thank you to Kendall for reviewing. I always appreciate that from you:)

* * *

**Chapter 4 - At the Starting Line**

* * *

_Bodies had fallen and blood had been spilled in Shermer already. Ronnie Sinclair had been the unfortunate victim of a cocaine deal gone bad and I couldn't help but worry that my brother would suffer the same fate._

_By the time the news of Ronnie's death had been discovered, it was too late and the deal was done. We couldn't pull out on Mad Dog; no one pulled out on Mad Dog unless for good reason - which was always on his terms._

_The war had started, and our army had risen. We - the creatures of the night - were being let loose on Shermer, IL with an all new agenda._

_But first, we had to find our general._

* * *

_Saturday November 2, 1985_

* * *

"Fuck, they have a lot of nerve taking off for the whole god damn night!" Ricky yelled, as they let the screen door of the Bender home slam behind them. Edward Bender, who was seated at the kitchen table with his newspaper, glared at his son's friend.

"Watch your fuckin' mouth in my house, Delmore." He turned back to his paper and huffed. "And don't slam my fucking door."

Ricky rolled his eyes at the heavyset man. "Yes, sir."

"Good, now go do your bitching downstairs before I throw you all out." Edward Bender was not a nice man. The times that he and his sons got along were a rarity while they were a little - but not much - more frequent with his wife and daughter.

Edward was a Vietnam veteran who never really got over his hardships over seas. He had been drafted in 1970; his oldest son was 5, John was 3, and his wife was six months pregnant with Janice. Life before the war had been a lot different for the Bender family; Edward had a good job, a high school education, and a lot of love for his family. He and John's mother, Shirley, had gotten pregnant when they were just sixteen, and married soon after. They had their lives 'planned' out - a plan which included a cute little house, a picket fence, and a cute little dog to play with their baby. Shirley dropped out of high school to prepare for the baby, while Edward continued his studies and got a job at an automotive factory. Things looked up for them for a few years.

Three months after James came along, Shirley got pregnant with John. The young couple struggled with James; he was born with water in his lungs and often had bouts of breathing difficulties. They spent money on things to help, but they didn't eliminate the problem. Soon Edward was working until past one in the morning, and still went to school. Most of the time he didn't get to see his family, but he worked hard because he loved them.

Three years later, at the end of 1969, Shirley became pregnant with Janice. At that time, the mortgage was well on its way to being paid off, they added a black Labrador dog to their family, and James had started kindergarten. The family was happy and finally on their way to success. Edward had graduated high school the previous year, and landed a full time job at the factory with a raise.

Then Edward got drafted. Shirley was devastated; she cried at night, clutching her husband, telling him that she couldn't raise the three children by herself. He knew that he had a duty as an American citizen to go and fight for his country, so he did not outwardly complain to his wife. Whether or not Edward truly wanted to got to the war was still a mystery to John, but he was not about to go ahead and ask him about it. All he knew was that his father came home three years later an entirely changed man.

Janice didn't know who the man was, and it took her a long time to get adjusted to having a stranger in the house. John couldn't remember all of the important details about his father before he left (he knew only what his brother told him), so adjustment was difficult for John as well. Most of all, James had a hard time dealing with it. His father used to be a fun and happy man that loved to teach him how to fish, play football, and fix cars. James had been very close and affectionate with his father before he left, so when the eight year old boy met his father again, he completely expected to pick up where they had left off.

It just wasn't meant to be.

When Ed got back he had some health problems. He had suffered from some sort of traumatic leg injury - John figured it was from some sort of explosive device - and was unable to walk well without a cane. He had been discharged from the army, and no longer had any sort of medical benefits to assist him in paying for his medications. Until 1985, John still watched his father walking around in pain. Once again, the old man didn't like to talk about it, so John knew nothing about the extent of those injuries.

What he did know was that the old man had nightmares, and they were long, frequent, and loud. He would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, and would throw a temper tantrum on anyone who came near him afterwards. John figured that it was the nightmares and the flashbacks that pushed him into drinking; the guy just couldn't function otherwise. There was so many times that he thought it would be easy to blame the _entire_ demise of their family on alcohol, but at the same time, his father was worse for wear when he didn't have it. There were also times that John wondered if the old man still thought that he was in 'Nam. He would mumble incoherently and redirect orders that made little sense to the rest of his family.

He also had a hard time just being around other people, especially when he went out in public. When the troops had gotten back from the war, they were spit on by the American citizens; called baby killers, they were thrown in jail, exiled from towns and families. Edward would go ballistic at times when people didn't treat him with respect. He would say that he did only what the American government wanted him to do - the same government that was democratically voted in - and the citizens of the U.S. were indebted to him. He was very bitter to say the least.

With the combination of the alcohol, the bitterness, the feeling of being a stranger in his own home, and the flashbacks, Edward Bender was just a time bomb waiting to go off. The perfect family that he had left behind when he got drafted was torn apart by poverty, mood swings, and abuse. Edward had gone out of control, and eventually Shirley had lost hope in him and the rest of her life. Her children rebelled and acted out, and that only sent both parents into fits of rage and despair.

After awhile, they didn't seem like a family at all.

The boys did what they could to stand by each other. Janice was younger than them, and they felt an obligation to her. James had known the father that they used to have, and he had been bitter when Edward couldn't step up and be the father to the three of them that he knew. What made James even bitterer was the fact that his mother slowly followed in his father's footsteps of self destruction, basically leaving the children to fend for themselves. John knew damn well that if it wasn't for the fact that his older brother had stuck around for Janice and him, he would have definitely been shot right down the gutter.

He watched his father intently as Ricky and Roger descended the stairs to the basement. He was drinking a beer while he ate a plate of scrambled eggs and read the paper. Even while doing things he enjoyed doing, he still had a scowl on his fat face.

"What the hell are you looking at, boy? You want this beer bottle over your head?" He raised his voice in an instant.

John swallowed and shook his head. "No."

"Then get the fuck out of my face, I don't even want to look at your ugly mug." Edward spit a few chunks of egg at him while he spoke to his son; he didn't even care what mess he made.

John didn't make any smart ass retorts and only made his way down the stairs to meet his friends; it was something that he was used to. He didn't get warm hellos and civilized conversation with his old man.

He wasn't sure that he even wanted it anyways.

He opened the door to the basement, and quietly closed it behind him, and made his way down the stairway to join his friends. The basement was where they usually hung out together; it had two old couches - brown with fleece covers, an old coffee table where they did their product counts, a few strings of Christmas lights for some off lighting and entertainment, a group of guitar and bass amps, and some musical instruments.

Although they hung around the basement most, it wasn't the boys' bedrooms. John and James each had their own bedrooms in the upper level of the house; there were three small rooms and a master bedroom on the upper floor. Each of the children did get their own rooms, while their mother and father shared the master. Even though the bedrooms were there and available, most of the time their parents slept in the living room, Janice slept at her friends' houses, and James would crash in the basement. John was the only one that used his private space on a regular basis.

"You gonna take this, man?" Ricky asked, holding a toke in while he spoke. John accepted the lit joint from the blue haired boy and took a long drag.

"Where the fuck could they have gone?" Roger wondered out loud. He hadn't said much since the boys had left the club looking for the older boys, so his soft voice caught John off guard.

"I'm sure they're alright, Lux," Ricky offered with a smile. "No one in their right mind would mess with our boys."

John snorted at that. "Yeah? How about guys that offer hits on runner boys who don't get their damn jobs done right? What about that, Rick?"

"Look Johnny," He raked a hand through his disheveled hair and sighed. "Jimmy is good with his head, and Jakey is good with his fists. They'll be back with a whole wad of cash and a pile of blow, and we'll be rollin' in it, bro. Just you wait and see."

"Those guys had guns," Roger reminded him. "What if they were high? People do bad things when they are high on hard drugs."

Ricky rolled his eyes. "Cocaine ain't all that bad, Lux. I think it's a lot like weed."

Roger didn't look convinced. "Except that it's worth way more money, is way more addictive, and made in chemical laboratories. Yeah, it's a lot like weed." He rolled his eyes at the older boy and stubbed the rest of the roach in the ashtray.

Ricky's smile never faltered, however. "Dude, a blow addiction is just as psychological as a grass one. There is absolutely no physical addiction involved!"

"But it still fucks you up more," Roger argued.

"That's true and all, but it ain't nothing like meth or dust. You ain't got nothin' to worry about, Rog." Ricky liked his drugs and would argue any valid point he could to make them okay. Bender was always caught somewhere in the middle with their arguments.

"You say that now, but I know something shitty is gonna happen, boys." Roger shook his head at the older boy and stared at John for a response. Roger hated hard drugs and when people abused what they used. Roger was probably the smartest kid that he hung out with.

John only shrugged his shoulders at the argument. "You just do what you need to do to get by, and you don't make dumb mistakes." He licked the edge of the rolling paper and tightly rolled the next joint into place. His lungs didn't need the chain smoking, but his head definitely did. "I don't give a shit what they are picking up right now, just as long that asshole lets them come home."

Ricky's famous grin spread across his features. "I'm telling you boys, you two are lookin' way too far into this."

Roger and John could only watch each other and not say a word; both silently hoping what Ricky said was truth. Their older friend never steered them the wrong way before, and they only hoped that he wouldn't now.

* * *

_Sunday November 3, 1985_

* * *

"Johnny, are you awake?" John stirred from his sleep and looked up into the brown eyes of his younger sister. She had a small smile on her face, and she held up a brown paper bag. "I brought you home some breakfast."

John sat up and looked around, realizing that he had fallen asleep in the basement rather than his bed. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked at Janice. "Did you see James?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Where?"

"Upstairs," John replied opening up the bag to reveal two bagels, some muffins, and some donuts. There were also two hot coffees sitting on the coffee table. "Did you see him when you came in?"

"No, I was hoping I would find him down here, but I found you instead." She unwrapped her own bagel and began to pick at it. John perked an eyebrow at her.

"Well it's nice to know that you didn't plan to serve my food first." She threw a playful grin at him and laughed.

"Now why would I do that, Johnny? You're too much of a trouble maker!" She laughed at him and continued to eat. Janice was a good kid. She wasn't much into alcohol, and she didn't do any drugs at all. She did go to school everyday, and she had a lot of friends around their side of town. He found that a lot of the girls that she brought around looked up to her, and tried to follow in her lead. She was a social butterfly and loved to have fun.

She also had a very keen sense of style. She loved denim in all of its glory, and owned denim skirts, shorts, pants, vests, and jackets. She wore all sorts of different colored sneakers, bracelets, and leg warmers. Her favorite attire was cut off denim shorts with black leggings underneath, a big leather belt on her waist, and a cropped top. Jewelry was another accessory that she had tons of; large hoop earrings in her double pierced ears, three watches on her left wrist, jelly bracelets, and big chunky hair clips. She often wore her dyed blonde hair in high ponytails on the side of her head, with her hair crimped. Her outside style was just as wild and unique as her personality was.

But Janice was a Bender and that was to be expected.

"Where is James anyways? I thought he had the weekend off of work?" Janice asked innocently. John bit his lip, knowing that the shorter girl would definitely not like his answer.

"I don't know where he is. I haven't seen him since yesterday." John took a large bite of his bagel and placed it back down on the wrapping on the table.

"What do you mean? I thought you guys were going to a concert together." Her tiny, chiseled eyebrows pointed inwards; the look made John want to crawl into a hole and die.

"We did," John began. "But he left early and I haven't seen him since. He had some guy to talk to, okay? Now just drop it."

She dropped her food into her own wrapping and stared at him. "I'm not going to just drop it, John! He had to talk some drug mumbo jumbo with some scary person, didn't he?"

John rolled his eyes but looked at her sincerely. "Yeah he had to talk to some 'scary guy', but he's fine, I promise."

She pushed her food away from her; obviously she had lost her appetite. "God I wish you guys would quit doing that. Don't you realize you pay those big, fat scary guys to kill you?! It's so stupid."

John sighed and leaned back against the couch. "Look, I know that it sounds bad, but James has a plan."

She regarded him skeptically. "A plan?"

"Yeah," John told her. "A real good one. He's never done anything stupid before, and he ain't gonna do it now. You have to trust him."

She stared at John as though he were retarded. "Stupid? Are you talking like the time he got in trouble for breaking into the concession stand at the park when he got the munchies, or are you talking about the time when he got in trouble for pulling a TV down the sidewalk on a skateboard?"

John laughed loud at the memory, which earned him a smack from his sister. "Oh come on, that was not stupid, that was hilarious!" He kept laughing until a small hint of a smile formed on her face.

"He's such a dork." She joined in with him after a few moments and the two siblings just laughed at their older brother's many mishaps. It made John feel better that he could laugh with his sister and not have to worry about his older brother. Although neither of them regularly admitted it, they both looked up to him and loved him dearly.

So John could only hope that his big brother would come home safe to them; that way, they could continue on with their plans and get a place of their own. Far away from drunken danger and broken hearts.

It could be just the three of them.

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**A/N**: Sorry it took me so long to update this one. I don't do it unless it's perfect, lol. So I hope you enjoyed. If anyone has any questions, please feel free to ask (I know the slang and drug talk can be a bit hard to follow). Also, the profiles for Ricky, Jake, and Janice have been added to the 'OC Catalogue' in my fanfic forum, so check those out if you need to. And lastly, please don't forget to drop me a line of feedback; good, bad, ugly, or a one-liner is fine with me :) I hope you enjoyed the latest edition of _Renegade_! 


	5. Blow

**Title**: Renegade  
**Author**: TWBasketCase  
**Rated**: M for language, drug use, violence, and death  
**Chapter Summary**: James finally gets home Sunday afternoon and is high out of his mind; Janice is unhappy with her brothers, and John ends up taking a little less persuasion.

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**Chapter 5 - Blow**

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_For someone who lived a life as chaotic as I did, I had a very hard time accepting major change. My life was messy and unkempt, but things were familiar and organized in a strange way._

_Adjusting to an even more structured and dangerous life was going to take some time. By that point I had began feeling more suspicious of people and my trust was beginning to wane. Our army was all I had at that point, and it had to be protected at all costs._

_I would be sent down a whirlwind of unknown dangers and confusion if it wasn't._

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_Sunday November 1, 1985_

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John and Janice had just finished up their breakfast and were cleaning up their garbage when the basement door had flung open. The loud sound subconsciously made both kids jump; they were used to loud noises being associated with a very angry father. Both of their heads shot to the stairs just in time to see their older brother stumbling down them.

"Where the fuck have you been, you dick!" John cursed at him as he quickly stood to his feet. It had been almost seventeen hours since James had gotten into Mad Dog's car, and going that long without contact definitely unsettled John.

James only gave him a lazy smile and shook his messy hair from his face. "Man…I had a crazy night!" He approached the coffee table clumsily, which earned him quite a glare from Janice.

"What is wrong with you?" She asked him in a concerned tone. She looked him up and down, and turned him towards her so that she could see his face. "What are you on?!"

John looked at James as well; he had dark bags under his eyes -which were extremely wide and bloodshot, and he was rubbing at his face a lot. He could tell right off the bat that he was high on crack, and Janice was not going to be too happy about that at all.

"Look, girl, I'm fine, okay?" James laughed; he waved his hand and dropped back down onto the couch and clutched a suitcase that he had carried in with him. "In fact, I've never felt happier in my whole fuckin' life."

Janice looked to John for help, but he could only shrug at her. She sat down on the table in front of James and tried to grab his hand - which was unsuccessful because he was not letting go of that briefcase. "James, what happened to you? Did that scary guy hurt you?"

James gave her an amused look. "Scary guy? There is no scary guy…except for maybe that Tooth Fairy; she kinda creeps me out a bit."

Janice raised her eyebrows and stood from the table. "Are you on acid again? I told you that that stuff makes you retarded, James!"

James only cracked up at that, which made Janice even more upset. "Little girl, I'm way too happy to be retarded! I'm tellin' ya, that acid was at a low point in my life!"

"So _this_ is not a low point in your life?" She demanded. "And stop calling me 'girl'!"

"What do you mean by 'this'?" James asked dumbly with a big grin on his face.

"Whatever the fuck it is that you're on that's making you act like a stupid little kid! You know, every time that I think you're getting better you just do something stupid like this to make me think otherwise! When are you going to grow up?" She was yelling now, which made John feel bad for both of them. He knew that Janice didn't like when he or James were messed up, but he had thought that he made it perfectly clear to her that James had a plan for them.

James' face fell at that point and he frowned. "What do you mean 'grow up'?"

"You heard me!" She accused, pointing a finger in his face. James smacked it off to the side and glared at her.

"I'm doing this for you, you brat! Everything I do is for you and you always fuckin' yell at me! Stop fuckin' yelling!" He looked completely agitated, which was strange for James. John had never seen him act that way towards their sister.

"Don't yell at me! I care about you, but you're just as selfish as dad is for acting this way!"

John knew that Janice had crossed _way over_ the wrong line with that one.

James jumped to his feet and tried to get into her face, and it was then that John made his move to butt in between them. He stood in front of Janice and knocked James back down to the couch roughly. "That's enough! Janice, get the fuck outta here, okay?"

She glared at John with tears in her eyes and nodded her head. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to say that."

John nodded. "Whatever, just let me talk to him, okay?"

She nodded. "I really am sorry. I just hate it when he's like this!" She protested.

John nodded and sighed. "I know you do, but you have to trust him, okay? He's a fuckin' idiot right now, but it'll work out, 'kay?"

She nodded her head and turned on her heel, running up the stairs quickly. She stopped right before she reached the door and looked at John. "Would you make sure that he gets the breakfast that I bought him? I don't want him to be hungry."

"Breakfast? Where?" James asked. John rolled his eyes and stared back up at Janice.

"He'll get it, don't worry."

With that she turned the knob at the top of the stairs and exited the basement. James was already snooping around the bags on the table to look for some munchies, so John didn't bother handing it to him. He just sat back on his chair and stared at his older brother. It bothered him that he waited around all night worried that his brother had been stabbed, or beaten, or worse, and all he had really been doing was sitting around with some big time import guy getting stoned. John wasn't like Roger, who was against all hard drugs and people who abused them, and nor was he like Ricky who just drooled at the word 'drug'. John was okay with anything as long as people used it in moderation and weren't fucking idiots about it; right now James was being a big fucking idiot.

John had never used cocaine before in any of its forms. He knew very well that Jake, Cody, Tom, and Ricky all did. Cocaine was one of those tricky drugs; it wasn't something that made your body physically dependent on it, yet it made people mentally crave it for hours and even days. Cocaine was not about the use, and it wasn't about the dependency (completely), but it was more about the euphoric feeling that it caused. He wasn't all that smart when it came to chemical and anatomical terms, but he knew that it through the brain off balance making people depressed when they didn't have it, and extremely happy when they did have it.

He didn't want to become a crack head, and he didn't want his brother or his friends to be that way either. John knew deep down inside that this little project that they were getting themselves into could easily backfire on them at any time, but he knew what he was risking. They wanted - they needed - to get out of their house and get themselves their own place, and soon. John was in his last year of high school and James had already finished, it was no big deal if they left. Janice was a different story, however. They were not about to leave her behind when they left. Who knows what kind of crap she would have to put up with, and both James and John wouldn't be able to live with themselves knowing that she had to fend for herself with their parents.

Dealing the cocaine would allow them to get out quick and be able to have the rent paid off until John was out of school and able to work full time. James only had a job as a pizza delivery boy and they didn't even pay his gas for him. Any tip that he did get went to gas and vehicle maintenance and his actual wage was below minimum (somehow). Pushing weed would never get them enough money to live off of, and cocaine was the safest choice. It was expensive, and it wouldn't bring the same kind of crazy people around as PCP, ice, or heroin would.

John was still weary however, and his brother's behavior at that particular moment wasn't helping to persuade him any more.

John watched as James returned from a brown paper bag triumphantly with a bagel in his hand. "So what did you do last night, man?"

James watched him as he licked a glob of cream cheese from his finger. "Oh yeah, me and Jakey went to some super secret lair."

John snorted. "Was it Mad Dog's house?"

James shook his head. "No, we were told to never go there ever. It was like some warehouse thing. It was weird. I dunno, anyhow we had a real long talk with that guy." He took a large bite of his bagel and tossed the rest of it back down into the wrapper. "Did you see that guy!?" He laughed out loud. "He looks like a fuckin' midget or something! He's not very tough looking at all!"

John rolled his eyes at that. "No, not really. What did he say to you guys?"

James took the last bite of his bagel and wiped the crumbs from his hands. "We got two ounces. If we can push all that in a couple of days then we can get more on spot." He drank about half of his coffee in a few gulps and set the cup down. "He's pretty weird…kinda like a leprechaun."

John snorted at him. "Well just don't tell him that."

"Oh, I don't think I will," James replied. "This should be pretty easy. I'm gonna send you guys to school with most of it."

John furrowed his eyebrows. "To school?! Man, do you know what the fuck'll happen to us if we get caught with all that? That's pretty risky…"

"Since when are you such a fuckin' chicken shit, Johnny?" James cut him off incredulously. "That's where we'll have to start to get our connections, bro. You know that…" James balled up all of the garbage and shoved it into the largest paper bag. "It's not that bad."

John snorted. "Says you and Jake 'cause you don't have to do anything! You're gonna stick me with Tom and Cody - the two fuckin' doucebags - to get rid of this stuff!?"

James gave him a strange look. "Well you got Reg too; he's a smart kid...and Lux…"

John glared at him. "Roger doesn't fuckin' do this shit!" He gestured to the briefcase. "What makes you think he wants to get involved in this shit?"

"He needs a cut, and you know it," James stated simply. He placed the briefcase on the table and stared at it. "I hate getting Lux involved in this shit too, but you know damn well that he could benefit more from this than even we can. He won't do anything stupid."

John felt his anger boiling in his chest, but knew better than to let it out. Roger had been his best friend for so long that he felt almost guilty pulling him into that mess, but James was so right when he said that Rog could benefit from the funds. It just bothered him to no end that Rog would have go against what he believed in in order to get there. "Whatever just tell me what we're dealin' with here."

"This is powder cocaine," James popped open the briefcase and showed him the many bundles of white powder. To John it looked just like a bunch of sugar or salt.

"I thought we would be dealing with crack?" John asked.

James nodded. "I thought about it, but this stuff is a way better high and way more expensive."

John nodded and looked at the powder. "So you just…sniff it?"

James shrugged. "Usually, but if you got the right stuff you can use a needle." John scrunched his face up at that. James sighed. "It ain't all that bad you know. I took a whole bunch last night."

John glared at him. "No shit…"

James seemed to ignore that comment and continued. "You only wanna do a couple of lines at a time. If you do too much you can have like a seizure or some shit. It only takes like five or ten minutes to peak." James opened up one of the bundles and sprinkled some powder onto the table. "The high is good shit, man. You feel like you can do anything; you know, you're just happy…it must be what multiple orgasms feel like."

John snorted at that. "You're a fuckin' liar."

James shook his head. "No way, man! It's a real good high that just puts you in happy land or some shit. It lasts about an hour or so, and then you come down."

John raised an eyebrow at that. "And somehow I get the impression that comin' down is the shits?"

James shrugged. "Yeah, kinda. You just feel all irritated…like ya need to get laid real bad." He divided the small powder pile into a few lines with his bank card. "But then ya just have some more and you don't feel so bad."

John rolled his eyes. "You know, that sounds like such a smart thing to fuckin' do, you moron."

James perked an eyebrow at him. "You don't know that until you try it, little brother. If you're too much of a chicken shit to put a little bit of powder up that big, fat nose of yours, then that's your problem. How the fuck do you think you're gonna sell it if you don't know what the fuck you're talking about?" He had a point there. "If you just do it this once, and never wanna do it again, that's fine, but if you're gonna sell it at least try it."

John glared at him for calling him a coward. If there was one thing that John Bender wasn't, it was a coward. He watched James roll up a five dollar bill, and he took it from him. He leaned over the table and, as quickly as he could, snorted up three smalls lines and threw the money back down on the table. The powder felt kind of chunky in his nose, and he had to take a few good sniffs to make the feeling go away.

"There, was that so bad?" James asked as he leaned down and took two lines of his own.

John rolled his shoulders and shrugged. "I dunno, man, whatever." He had a tingling sensation in the upper half of his face that distracted him from creating coherent sentences; it was unlike anything he had felt before. He hoped more than anything that he would just end up hating the stuff so that he wouldn't have to deal with it again. At first he was open minded to it, but now that it was right in front of him - and it made his usually sharp and calm brother act like an idiot - he was more put off by the idea of using it.

James leaned back into the sofa and sighed. "You know what I want to do right now?"

John looked at him as his head rush started to creep up on him. "What?"

He smiled at John and then looked back up to the ceiling. "I wanna watch The Muppet Show." He smiled at his own comment until he started laughing his ass off. "Like, you know that weird one who sings and cooks the food…and like throws it everywhere?"

John snorted and rubbed his eyes. "The Swedish Chef."

James laughed. "Yeah, that's the one." John shook his head at his brother's antics and leaned forward to close the briefcase. James glared at him. "What do ya think you're doin' with that?"

John gave him a stern look. "We're puttin' it away. You're not getting all fucked up on this stuff before we have none left to sell. I think you had enough anyways."

James nodded. "We should get the boys over here later so I can tell 'em what to do with it."

John nodded. "I hope this is a good idea, man."

"I told ya that you can trust me, remember?" When John nodded, he continued. "This stuff will go fast, we'll get our money, and we'll pull out. I promise you that…I swear on my life."

John bit his lip and nodded, a chunk of hair falling over his forehead. "Yeah, okay."

James smiled. "Just try and think about the good stuff that's coming, okay? If you keep thinking about that, it makes everything less bad."

"Does it?" John asked him.

James nodded. "Yeah."

John grabbed the briefcase and went to the area of the wall behind the television stand where they always hid their stashes and placed the briefcase inside of the wall. The quicker the stuff was out of his sight, the better he figured he was going to feel. While the drug itself had already begun circulating through his body - and he could easily admit that it was making him feel rather hyperactive - he still had that side feeling of paranoia blasting through him.

But that could easily be blamed on the drugs…he was pretty sure it could anyways…

_**TBC**_

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**A/N**: Thanks for reading and please don't forget to review :) 


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